


Anima e Mente

by Verticablets



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Anger, Death, Enemies, Gen, Italy, Music, Rivalry, Short, amadeus - Freeform, classic, dream - Freeform, duel, envy - Freeform, fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 12:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18969289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verticablets/pseuds/Verticablets





	1. 1. The sound of Iesi

Mesmerising sounds flooded the streets of Italy, seducing the ears of the listeners, penetrating their minds, thoughts, feelings. Such was the talent of this young man, a violinist who came out of nowhere.   
  
One day, a stranger arrived in Iesi. The stranger played every day for hours anywhere he could. He was magnificent, fantastic, a wunderkind. Quickly, people started noticing the young man's worth. A couple of bystanders would stay to listen, then more and more joined as days passed. Soon enough everyone knew of the boy, the stranger of undoubted talent; Pieri.   
  
Cipriani, a well-known composer and conductor knew of the boy the first time he played. ‘Nothing I haven't heard before’ he said. Another kid who wants fame and glory. Cipriani liked to hold small parties for the high class and respected artists. The young boy attended one of them, invited by one of the many guests. Cipriani didn't like the idea, but he wouldn't make a scene in front of everybody, staining his reputation.    
In those parties it was usual for an artist to play, it was a great way of showing everyone your talent, create opportunities. After some artists finished their acts, people requested Cipriani. He loved people's attention, he liked the recognition, the fame, the love. He gave them his most popular piece on the violin. Everyone was delighted and clapped heavily at the end. Then, more as a joke, someone yelled for the young boy, Pieri, to take over the stage.    
Pieri wasn't expecting to play that night, but he was happy for the opportunity. He asked Cipriani for his violin because he didn't bring his. Everyone laughed, Cipriani too. ‘He's just a kid.’ he thought while laughing.    
  
Pieri got ready, at first, he didn't know what to play, he was taking too long. You could hear people laughing and gossiping. Of course, they enjoyed his performance on the street but in no way they thought he was on the same level of the high-class composers. His face brightened and he smiled and nodded as if saying ‘I got it now.’    
He closed his eyes and started playing, everyone stayed in silence. It seemed as if the violin had an infinite number of strings. every sound that came off of it was new and enchanting. He made the violin sing, and it told everyone the story they wanted to hear. It evoked so many emotions people didn't know they had, it opened their minds to new universes of complete peace and wonders. And of all the people the most moved by it was, of course, the creator. Pieri's face contorted as he played, he understood the language the violin was speaking to him. Every note preceded by a gasp and followed by a tear. The boy was in a trance, his emotions, his feelings escaping out of his mind and body and flying through the room. His soul exposed to everyone. It was pure, so pure.    
  
People didn't know what happened. When he stopped playing he bowed, smiled to everyone and gave the violin to his owner. People started clapping, some crying. It was so confusing. Pieri went to his table and the night went on, trying to figure out if what had happened was real or not.    
  
The young musician was seen the following days walking all over town, stopping to admire the buildings, the people, the flowers, everything. He casually wrote something in a very old but in good state book, looked at what he just wrote, back at the scenery and then continued his journey. He kept doing the same for hours, days, week. People started thinking he went mad. Cipriani kept a close eye on the boy, trying his best not to be discovered. Only once did he caught sight of him and merely greeted him with a wave of his hand and a smile on his face. Cipriani couldn't understand what was going on, perhaps the boy was indeed mad. That would explain a lot. He forgot about him and continued with his life.    
  
Weeks later, the boy started performing on the street again, but this time with a brand new repertoire. Everything about it felt fresh and exciting, yet it also felt familiar. Anyone who listened felt at home like they understood something but didn't really knew what it was. People started saying it was the ‘Sound of Iesi.’   
Cipriani didn't like that one bit. He was born there, and even tho he travelled a lot he always came back and gave his best to his people. Now this lunatic from who knows where is being drenched in compliments, love and admiration. ‘The Sound of Iesi,’ Cipriani growled, ‘I am the Sound of Iesi.’   
And he got to work.    
  
While composing the music he slowly started to realise that he was copying the young artist. The music stayed in his head, hijacking his thoughts. He tried again but continued to copy little parts of the boy's composition, and slowly the whole song started playing in his mind. He couldn't hear anything but the music. He was furious. At the boy, for causing all this and at him, for letting himself be fooled. He sufficed his anger with everything at hand. He bashed the inker, kicked his tables, flipped his couches, punched his walls. Suddenly he stopped, thinking about what people would think of him if they saw him like that. He was a man of wealth, respect and education and he must behave like so. He tried his best to get everything back together and resumed his work.    
‘I'll make something a thousand times better than that’ he said. But when he got ready to write it down: nothing. His mind was an endless pit of darkness, not a single thought could be found. He unleashed his frustration once again.


	2. 2. One made, one born

A very young boy was running around the street with his friends when his mother called him. She led him inside where a man with an enormous belly was sitting on a stool, in front of a piano. The man was smiling, a smile full of love, a true smile, as he motioned for the boy to get closer. The boy had never seen anything like that before. It was rare, strange, new but friendly. He was comfortable with it and wanted to know what he could do with it. “Go ahead, you can touch it,” said the mother. “It's for you, Elia.”  
Turns out his mother asked Luca, the boy's uncle to teach him to play. Mostly because she wanted him to be classy, respectable, intelligent, and felt that playing music of quality was a good way to start. She also wanted him to work with it, to make sure he had the tools to live well, something they couldn't do at the time.

The boy worked hard, day and night, out of passion. His uncle knew how to play well, yes, but not professionally. The family didn't have the money to pay a good teacher, so the kid had to learn alone. He listened, observed, memorized, replicated. He learned every technique, every sound, every song from anyone he saw playing and not only did he mastered them but made them his own.

Soon the boy was known. his name, the family name, finally meant something. He composed plays, operas, songs for very important people. Everyone wanted something from the boy. His family became wealthy, and he promised to never go back to the time where the family name meant anything but poverty.

His family was very little. Soon the mother died, and then the uncle. The rest of the family he had left spread across the country was unknown to him. He was alone. Several attempts to find company brutally failed. He was a good man, from a good family but simply couldn't understand how love worked.  
And so he stayed alone, perfecting his craft. getting better and better, lonelier and lonelier. And soon his craft became him. Who he was, who he is, who he'll ever be.

A family of perfumers lived in prosperity for generations until a bad seed brought everything down. Renzo was raised just like his two brothers; Surrounded by undying love, endless money and many opportunities. Somehow, his path began to bend. He isolated himself from the family and surrounded himself with whores, alcohol and fame. His manners were nonexistent, he had no talent whatsoever and his personality was hideous. people only followed him for his money.

In one of his many encounters with women, a child was born. His mother, a poor but beautiful girl of only seventeen was thrown out of her house as soon as her parents knew of the unborn child. ‘We barely survive and now you bring another mouth to feed! Go with that bastard that slept with you, you're not our daughter anymore.’ said her mother as she seized her and rushed her out of the house, while her father picked all her stuff and handed it to her.

‘It's your child, take responsibility! Don't help me but help the poor thing, I can't take care of him, please.’ but Renzo denied everything. Said he didn't know the girl, the child wasn't his. He ordered for the girl to leave and to be hanged if she came once again telling lies about him.

Months later the girl was found dead in an alley. the baby drenched in blood, covered by her dress, did not make a single sound. The farmers who found the boy knew the mother and knew what happened with the father. They wanted the boy to have the name of his true family, a family that someday might take him in their arms and give him all the love they didn't give him from the start. And also wanted to give him the name of his mother, so that she could be with him, all the time. And so Tessa lived.

The farmers had a very old piano that missed several keys, and that was Tessa's favourite toy. At the age of five he started playing with more structure, but still with the same wild excitement he always had. At the age of ten, he was already creating his own pieces. All this without help from anybody. Little by little the farmers saved money and bought the boy more instruments. He gradually deciphered and mastered them all. One day, he told the farmers he was grateful for all they've done for him, that his love for them was immeasurable and that he must leave the house to travel. He wanted to see the world, live it, learn from it. The farmers understood and made him food and bought more clothes for him before he departed. The boy promised to come back to take care of them, to give back all they gave him and much more. There were hugs, laughs, tears and the boy was gone.


	3. Jester's Party

An upcoming designer named Cyrille Seuxmont was visiting Italy for inspiration. The boy was extravagant, wore clothes more suitable for women than for men. One could tell he liked to stand out, be the centre of attention, that craziness, chaos and bliss were an essential part of his life and persona. One could also tell that the boy was destined to greatness, you could feel the raw talent. 

Cyrille decided to host a party and make it open for anybody. He wanted the best. the best place, the best food, the best people, the best music. And so, being a foreigner he knew nothing of local talent, thus he asked the people who were the best. Almost everyone he met said at once the name of Cipriani. His plays, operas, compositions, everyone knew all of it, his talent was undeniable. Some said the name of Pieri. A young woman described what had happened at Cipriani's reunion, Cyrelli was amazed. He had never heard someone talk about a performance like that, he himself felt a bit of what the woman was telling as if tiny parts of the feelings stayed in the words. He also liked Pieri because he was a young boy trying to succeed in life against people that are already very well established. And his mind started to work, and his lips formed a smile. 

A letter was sent to both of them. Saying that they were invited to perform at Cyrelli's party, that the pay would be excessive and that it was a great opportunity to show their worth. But that they would have to play at the same time not as partners but as rivals. It was a duel. 

Cipriani felt insulted for being compared to that boy, that Cyrelli even thought the boy had a chance against him. But he was right, it was the perfect chance to prove once and for all that nobody is better than him.   
Pieri didn't even know what a duel was. 

The party would take place in four days. Cipriani spent day and night practising and selecting his greatest pieces. He cleaned and tuned his violin relentlessly thousands of times. All of that on day one. Pieri spent the day by the river, watching the waves dance, back and forth, just for him.   
On day two Cipriani called in some of his friends to show them what he had done so far, to test their reactions and see what his work needed. After he performed just a taste of what he had ready they told him that Pieri was playing on the streets for the people, dancing and having fun.   
Cipriani was enraged. A mediocre artist like him has the chance to compete against the great Cipriani and doesn't prepare properly? A good rival would show respect to his opponent! And he goes around playing little games. What is he thinking? Maybe he believes he's so good he doesn't need to practice? 

And he remained like that the entire day. Just rambling, walking left to right, cursing and yelling. 

The next day he spent outside, trying to relax. He'd never done tantrums like this before. What is happening, that turned such a composed man into a barbarian, an animal? He sat there at the small plaza, very far from town, a place that was empty must of the time. Beautiful marble sculptures surrounded him, they looked alive. Breathing, seeing, hearing. But there was something else, another presence. 

‘Beautiful day, isn't it?’ asked Pieri. His voice was soft and calming, he had the voice of a little boy and that made him seem even younger. He kept walking towards the sculptures and stood there looking at one.

‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ Replied Cipriani, a little concerned. a bit embarrassed as if the boy knew of everything he thought of him. 

‘I don't like being here much, they look somewhat sad. At the verge of tears, I'd say. Especially this man.’ and he pointed at the sculpture of a young man looking at him. He had short curly hair, a somewhat muscular body and didn't have a fancy pose like the rest. He was just standing there, looking, expecting. 

‘They're a work of art. I enjoy them very much.’ Replied Cipriani, more loosely now. 

‘Well, enjoy your day, sir. I'll see you in two days.’ Pieri smiled, waved and walked away. 

‘What...’ Cipriani stood up quickly, ‘What do you think... Of me?’

Pieri was a little confused. Truth be told he didn't talk much with anyone, not even as a kid. He didn't know how to behave in public and sometimes came across as rude and stupid. He stood there for a while, thinking about the question, thinking about the answer. Finally, he seemed to understand, so he smiled and said: ‘You think too much. You expect too much.’ and he went on.

Cipriani couldn't understand it. ‘Is it an insult? Is he saying I'm stupid?’ that just made him angrier and his resentment towards the boy increased. He went home and practised more. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he just played. 

It was the day of the party and Cipriani showed up wearing his best suit, carrying his favourite violin that he only used for special occasions and soaked with confidence and pride.   
Pieri didn't plan a flashy entrance, he wasn't like that. But Cyrelli insisted on making a new suit just for him. It was bright purple, very extravagant and weird looking but Cyrelli seemed happy with it, and it was a gift, it would be rude not to wear it, especially for his party. So Pieri showed up with the suit and his violin and everyone noticed his presence immediately. He was greeted with compliments, handshakes and hugs. More so than Cipriani, who walked bitterly inside the house to forget that even happened. 

Pieri tried to evade the crowd, it seemed like he was trying to reach Cipriani, and the latter noticed, because he kept on the move constantly, trying to lose the boy. 

The servants called for both of the violinists, they were to prepare for the performance. Everyone gathered on the massive garden, gossiping, laughing, drinking, expecting. Until the host got on top of the stage there. 

He spoke with a very thick accent: ‘Dear friends, first of all, thank you for the kind welcome, I am not from here but I feel as if I've lived here for years. Sadly, I don't know much about music, that's not my passion. But I wanted my party to have only the best and so I asked you, the people, to point me in the right direction. Two names were given to me, and I've brought them here, for you.  
Cipriani, a well-known musician not only here, but in various countries. Born right here, like most of you. There can't be Iesi without Cipriani. But, like many of you have told me, there's also a newcomer. Pieri, a very young and very talented boy who appeared out of nowhere, almost sent by God. A prodigy that can make you not just hear the music, but feel it and enjoy it in a way you've never experienced before. Some of you even call him the sound of Iesi.’ This embarrassed Pieri and vexed Cipriani.   
‘Now, they'll perform three short pieces each, and you will decide who's better. Who's the master and who's the student? Who's the real sound of Iesi? Let's begin!’

Cipriani prepared while Pieri stood a few steps away from him. Everyone remained silent. He started playing a very soft tune. It was lovely, yes, but people felt that they heard it before, countless time. Everyone clapped mildly, more out of politeness than anything.   
It was Pieri's tune and he too played a very soft and simple piece. It was beautiful, but it lacked soul. Again, a few claps. Cipriani looked at the boy carefully and got ready for his next piece. It was exciting, very happy and moving. People liked it very much, they never heard him play something of that style. Pieri, in his turn, played again another soft piece, a bit sad this time. Cipriani was mad, yes, he disliked the boy but he as an artist could appreciate the talent and he knew the boy had some. Why isn't he performing like he usually does? Is it on purpose? Is he letting me win? He got closer to the boy and said to his ear ‘I don't need your help, bastard. Do your best, because I'll do mine and after that, you'll be gone and forgotten.’  
Pieri was surprised. Maybe they didn't know each other that much, but he looked up to him and hoped to become friends one day. But now he could see that it was never happening.   
For his final turn, Cipriani used a piece he worked on for months, changing and rearranging, giving more feeling, more excitement. He felt it was to be used now. And he played, and it got close to what Pieri played the same day he saw him for the first time. It gave the crowd a vague tour through town, it injected joy and nostalgia into their hearts and they all felt part of a family. Everyone clapped, they loved it, they wanted more. Pieri was looking at the floor, away with the fairies. He looked confused and annoyed. 

He got ready to play and again, he just stood there for a while, thinking. After a couple of minutes, he closed his eyes and started playing. It was only him and a violin but people heard an entire orchestra. They travelled to strange lands and came back within seconds, he took people's feelings, mixed them together and created new and powerful ones, every chord made the heart jump and the mind collapse. They flew over the world, brushing the clouds. They swam under every sea, among beautiful creatures. It was a new experience in every sense. Everyone stood up and started clapping and screaming, crying and laughing. Cyrelli gave him a big hug and the crowd got closer to shake his hand, kiss his cheek, show their love. Cipriani couldn't be found. The party kept going, everyone was extremely excited and in a good mood. but not Pieri, so he went for a walk.


	4. Forevermore

Cipriani sat down next to the sculptures in the small plaza, his violin broken in half a few steps away. This time he wasn't angry, he was sad. It seemed as if everything he had done until now had disappeared. Just like that, years of work, gone in a second. He felt dirty, disgusted at himself. He felt weak, incapable of fighting, of staying alive. He didn't want to go back to who he was before this talent. He'd rather die than go back. Now with someone new, younger and... Better... What could he do? Where would he go? The Great Cipriani, out on the street, sleeping on the floor, begging for money. That wasn't an option. 

‘Hello. I knew I'd find you here.’ Said Pieri, with a weak smile on his face. 

Cipriani stood up immediately. “What is he doing here? Does he want to brag about his victory? He wants to embarrass me even more?” he wasn't having it, this nobody took everything he had. 

‘you're a thief, ’ he said, ‘A filthy thief!’ he yelled. 

‘I'm not a thief, I didn't steal anything. It's just a stupid act, I told you, you think too much about things.’ said the boy, trying to approach him. 

‘Back off!’ yelled Cipriani as he rushed backwards, ‘It was your plan, to come here and ridicule me, to take everything I've done in life and destroy it!’

Pieri tried to approach him once again and as he touched his shoulder Cipriani moved forward and charged against him, throwing him to the ground. Pieri had enough, he did nothing wrong. Now he's accusing him of stealing his life. Enraged, he stood up and pushed Cipriani. He stumbled backwards, surprised that the boy was ready to fight back. They both advanced and exchanged fists. Pieri had more energy, but Cipriani had more power. Soon the boy couldn't keep up, and Cipriani got tired too. They both stumbled to the ground, breathing heavily. 

‘So at least I can beat you at something.’ Said Cipriani with scorn. 

‘I don't care what you think,’ Replied Pieri as he stood up. ‘I wanted to be nice, I wanted to be your friend but you told me to go all out, and now you're mad because of it.’

‘So it's true! You were holding back!’ He knew this but didn't accept it completely until the boy said it. 

‘Yes, I was. I tried to make it easy, but if you and your ego don't want my help then fine, you're done, old man.’ and he turned around and walked away. 

Cipriani got up fast and ran towards him, grabbed and threw him against the sculpture of the sad-looking man with such force that parts of it broke down. He grabbed a piece of the sculpture on the ground and started hitting him everywhere repeatedly while he shouted. Pieri covered himself the best he could, every blow made him twitch and scream, the pain was unbearable. His nose started pouring insane amounts of blood that covered his face entirely, he started choking with it. Blows kept raining on him, each feeling heavier than the previous. The blood started splattering everywhere, Cipriani, the sculptures, the floor. Everything looked like a big painting of aggression. Cipriani hit him one last time and felt like something broke, only then did he stopped and looked what he had done. It was very fast, he looked at the boy, himself, the surroundings. He saw a book laying on a pool of blood and he grabbed it and ran. 

Back at home he opened the book and saw it was filled with greatness. Endless compositions, infinite ideas, it was the holy grail. He completely forgot about earlier and just concentrated in his future, now that he had this book. Next morning he cleaned himself and put on his best clothes, grabbed his violin and the book then headed outside. He wanted to “come back” the way the boy did, playing in the streets, for the people. If it worked for Pieri it should work for him. He memorized a beautiful piece from the book and he was ready to show “his” creation to the world. 

He stood up on the edge of a fountain and started playing. At first, it was a little off, it wasn't his style, after all. But after a while, he got the hang of it, and everything fell in place. People started forming a crowd there, it was magical like it called them in. Cipriani was so happy, this is all that he wanted, now all the love was for him, only him. Suddenly, he disappeared. He was very far from Iesi, in a poor looking house, all he could hear was people yelling angrily and moving fast. He turned around and found himself in a dirty alley, a pool of blood under his feet and a red dress laying on the floor, complete silence. Finally, he woke up in a farm, an elderly couple sitting on chairs in front of a window, drinking tea and looking at the horizon, waiting. Cipriani started breathing very fast, the air was cold and it hurt his throat and lungs. The back of his eyes felt as if they were pinched by a thousand needles and his mind couldn't concentrate on anything. He started weeping like a child as he played. The crowd was moved, they thought it was all part of the act, that the sound was so beautiful that it made even the composer cry. He started crying more and more but he couldn't stop playing, he opened his eyes and looked around the crowd, he was there. He looked at him while smiling and motioned with his hands, telling him to keep playing. Cipriani blinked and the boy was gone, again. He couldn't resist anymore, he dropped to the floor and laid there, curled into a ball, sobbing while hugging himself. 

That night, in his room, he gathered all his strength and eased his mind. He started composing a song nothing like the others he'd made. He took part from the book of Pieri, and so his style and the boy's merged and became one, new and unique. It took him hours and it was very short but it was done, a masterpiece. It told the story from the beginning to the end, nice and sweet, dark and raw. He called it “Anima e Mente ” Soul and Mind, and it was a gift for the young artist. He then played it, his best performance. Full of love for art and life, full of regret for what he had done. Once it was over he grabbed a rope and a chair, without any doubt in his mind, without hesitation. He hanged himself, and at the last second, he felt forgiven, he was free.


End file.
